The Blank Check

Even before Count Alexander (‘Alek’) Hoyos ‘chef de cabinet’ of the  Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister arrived by night train in Berlin on the morning of Sunday 5 July, the view had gained ground there that Austria-Hungary would be justified in mounting a demarche of some kind against Belgrade.

His first task was to brief the Austrian ambassador to Berlin Count Szogyenyi, on the documents he had brought with him, which included a personal letter from the Austrian to the German Emperor. Szogyenyi then left with copies for Potsdam, where he lunched with the Kaiser, while Hoyos met with Arthur Zimmermann, under-secretary of the Berlin Foreign Office. 

The German Emperor Wilhelm II received the ambassador at the Neues Palais, a vast baroque structure at the western end of the palace park at Potsdam. According to Szogyenyi's report, Wilhelm remarked that he had 'expected a serious action on our part against Serbia' but that he must also consider that such a course might well bring about 'a serious European complication'. He would therefore be unable to give a 'definitive answer before conferring with the Reich Chancellor'. The Emperor then retired for lunch. Szogyenyi wrote:

After the meal, when I once again stressed the seriousness of the situation in the most emphatic way, His Majesty empowered me to convey to our Supreme Sovereign [Franz Joseph] that we can count, in this case too, upon the full support of Germany. As he had said, he must hear the opinion of the Reich Chancellor, but he did not doubt in the slightest that Herr von Bethmann Hollweg would completely agree with his view. This was particularly true as regards the action on our part against Serbia. According to his [Kaiser Wilhelm's] view, however, this action should not be delayed. Russia's attitude would be hostile in any event, but he had been prepared for this for years, and if it should come to a war between Austria -Hungary and Russia, we should be confident that Germany would stand by our side with the customary loyalty of allies. Russia, incidentally, as things stood today, was not by any means prepared for war and would certainly think long and hard over whether to issue the call to arms. [ ... ] But if we had truly recognized the necessity of a military action against Serbia, then he (the Kaiser) would regret it if we failed to exploit the present moment, which is so advantageous to us.1

While the ambassador and the Emperor talked at Potsdam, Hoyos met with Under Secretary Zimmermann at the Foreign Office in Berlin for an informal talk - the secretary of state, Gottlieb von Jagow, was still away on his honeymoon and thus unavailable for an interview. Hoyos and Zimmermann agreed in principle that Germany would support an Austrian action against Serbia. Zimmermann remarked - according to Hoyos's later recollection - that if the Austrians took action against Serbia, there was 'a 90% likelihood of a European war', before assuring the ambassador nonetheless of German support for Austria's plan.2

In fact Hoyos sounded the war aim of the annexation of Serbia in his endeavour to gain the support of Germany.

At five o'clock that evening, a small group met at the Neues Palais to discuss the morning's events and to coordinate views. Present were the Kaiser, his adjutant General Plessen, the chief of his military cabinet, General Lyncker, and War Minister General Falkenhayn. Under-Secretary Zimmermann and the imperial chancellor, who had in the meanwhile returned from his estate, also attended. Plessen recorded the details in his diary. The Kaiser read out the letter from Franz Joseph, from which everyone concluded that the Austrians were 'getting ready for a war on Serbia' and wanted 'first to be sure of Germany'. 'The opinion prevailed among us that the sooner the Austrians make their move against Serbia the better, and that the Russians - though friends of Serbia - will not join in after all.'3

On the following day, 6 July, Bethmann Hollweg received Count Hoyos and Ambassador Szogyenyi with Zimmermann in attendance to offer the Austrians a formal reply to their representations (Kaiser Wilhelm had in the meanwhile left Berlin for his annual yacht tour of Scandinavia). Bethmann dwelt first at some length on the general security situation in the Balkans. Bulgaria should be integrated more closely into the Triple Alliance, Bucharest should be asked to scale down its support for Romanian irridentism in Transylvania, and so on. Only then did he turn to the proposed military action: 

In the matter of our relationship with Serbia, [Szogyenyi reported) he said that it was the view of the German government that we must judge what ought to be done to sort out this relationship; whatever our decision turned out to be, we could be confident that Germany as our ally and a friend of the Monarchy would stand behind us. In the further course of the conversation, I gathered that both the Chancellor and his Imperial master view an immediate intervention by us against Serbia as the best and most radical solution of our problems in the Balkans. From an international standpoint he views the present moment as more favorable than a later one.4

Notwithstanding the oddities of this short address - among other things, only nine of the fifty-four lines of the printed text of Szogyenyi's summary were actually about the proposed measures against Serbia and there was no mention of a possible Russian response - we have here a clear decision, and one of momentous importance. For once, the German government was speaking with one voice. The Kaiser and the chancellor (who was also the foreign minister) were in agreement, as was the under-secretary of the Foreign Office, standing in for Jagow, the secretary of state for foreign affairs. The minister of war had been informed and had advised the Emperor that the German army was ready for all eventualities. The result was the assurance of German support that has become known as the 'blank cheque'. 

The Kaiser and the chancellor believed that the Austrians were justified in taking action against Serbia and deserved to be able to do so without the fear of Russian intimidation. Much more problematic is the claim that the Germans over-interpreted the Austrian messages, made commitments that surpassed Austrian intentions, and thereby pressured them into war.5 While it is true that Franz Joseph's note did not refer directly to 'war' against Serbia, it left the reader in absolutely no doubt that Vienna was contemplating the most radical possible action. How else should one understand his insistence that 'a conciliation of the conflict' between the two states was no longer possible and that the problem would be resolved only when Serbia had been 'eliminated as a power-factor in the Balkans'? In any case Count Hoyos had left no margin of doubt about Vienna's thinking. He asserted personal control over the Austrian representations during his 'mission' in Berlin; he later revealed to the historian Luigi Albertini that it was he, not the veteran ambassador, who had composed Szogyenyi's dispatch summarizing Bethmann's assurances.6 

How did the German leadership assess the risk that an Austrian attack on Serbia would bring about a Russian intervention, force Germany to assist its ally, trigger the Franco-Russian alliance and thereby bring about a continental war? Some historians have argued that Wilhelm, Bethmann and their military advisers saw the crisis brewing over Sarajevo as an opportunity to seek conflict with the other great powers on terms favorable to Germany. Over preceding years, elements of the German military had repeatedly made a case for preventive war, on the grounds that since the balance of military striking power was tilting fast away from the Triple Alliance, time was running out for Germany. A war fought now might still be winnable; in five years' time the armaments gap would have widened to the point where the odds in favor of the Entente powers were unbeatable.

Exactly how much weight did such arguments carry in the deliberations of the German leadership? In answering this question, we should note first that the key decision-makers did not believe a Russian intervention to be likely and did not wish to provoke one. On 2 July Salza Lichtenau, the Saxon envoy in Berlin, reported that although certain senior military figures were arguing that it would be desirable to 'let war come about now', while Russia remained unprepared, he felt it unlikely that the Kaiser would accept this view. A report filed on the following day by the Saxon military plenipotentiary noted that, by contrast with those who looked with favor on the prospect of a war sooner rather than later, 'the Kaiser is said to have pronounced in favor of maintaining peace'. Those present at the meeting with Wilhelm II in Potsdam on the afternoon of 5 July all took the view that the Russians, though friends of Serbia, 'would not join in after all'. Thus, when at that meeting War Minister Falkenhayn asked the Kaiser whether he wished that 'any kind of preparations should be made' for the eventuality of a great power conflict, Wilhelm replied in the negative. The reluctance of the Germans to make military preparations, which remained a feature of the German handling of the crisis into late July, may in part have reflected the army's confidence in the existing state of readiness, but it also reflected the German leadership's wish to confine the conflict to the Balkans, even if this policy risked jeopardizing their readiness, should confinement fail.7

In contrast to Zimmermann and others, the Kaiser in particular remained confident that the conflict could be localized.

Late in October 1913, in the aftermath of the Albanian crisis, he had told Ambassador Szogyenyi that 'for the moment Russia gave him no cause for anxiety; for the next six years one need fear nothing from that quarter.8 

This line of reasoning was not an alternative to the preventive war argument; on the contrary, it was partly interwoven with it. The argument in favor of launching a preventive war consisted of two distinct and separable elements. The first was the observation that Germany's chances of military success in a European war were diminishing fast; the second was the inference that Germany should address this problem by itself seeking a war before it was too late. It was the first part that entered into the thinking of the key civilian decision-makers, not the second. After all, the evidence that suggested diminishing chances of success also implied that the risk of a Russian intervention was minimal. If the Russians' chances of success in a war with Germany really were going to be much better in three years' time than they were be in 1914, why would St Petersburg risk launching a continental conflict now, when it was only half-prepared? 

Thinking along these lines opened up two possible scenarios. The first, which appeared much the more probable to Bethmann and his colleagues, was that the Russians would abstain from intervening and leave the Austrians to sort out their dispute with Serbia, perhaps responding diplomatically in concert with one or more other powers at a later point. The second scenario, deemed less probable, was that the Russians would deny the legitimacy of Austria's case, overlook the incompleteness of their own rearmament programme, and intervene nonetheless. It was on this secondary level of conditionality that the logic of preventive war fell into place: for if there was going to be a war anyway, it would be better to have one now. 

Underlying these calculations could have been, as we can see in retrospect, erroneous assumption that the Russians were unlikely to intervene. The reasons for this gross misreading of the level of risk are not hard to find. Russia's acceptance of the Austrian ultimatum in October 1913 spoke for that outcome. Then there was the deeply held belief already eluded to that time was on Russia's side. The assassinations were seen in Berlin as an assault on the monarchical principle launched from within a political culture with a strong propensity to regicide (a view that can also be found in some British press coverage). Strong as Russia's pan-Slav sympathies might be, it was difficult to imagine the Tsar siding 'with the regicides', as the Kaiser repeatedly observed. To all this, we must add the perennial problem of reading the intentions of the Russian executive. The Germans were unaware of the extent to which an Austro-Serbian quarrel had already been built into Franco-Russian strategic thinking. They failed to understand how indifferent the two western powers would be to the question of who had provoked the quarrel. 

At the same time, the recent German experience of hand-in-hand collaboration with London on Balkan matters suggested that England might well- despite the latest naval talks -understand Berlin's standpoint and press St Petersburg to observe restraint. This was one of the dangers of detente: that it encouraged decision-makers to underrate the dangers attendant upon their actions.9

One could thus speak, as some historians have, of a policy of calculated risk.10 But this characterization excludes from view a further important link in the chain of German thinking. This was the supposition that a Russian intervention - being a policy indefensible in ethico-legal or in security terms - would in reality be evidence of something else more ominous, namely St Petersburg's desire to seek a war with the central powers, to exploit the opportunity offered by the Austrian demarche in order to commence a campaign that would break the power of the Triple Alliance. Seen from this perspective, the Austro-Serbian crisis looked less like an opportunity to seek war and more like a means of establishing the true nature of Russia's intentions. And if Russia were found to want war (which was plausible in German eyes, given the immense scope of its rearmament, the intense collaboration with France, the outrage over the Liman mission and the recent naval talks with Britain), then - here again the diminishing chances/preventive war argument fell into place as part of a second-tier conditionality - it would be better to accept the war offered by the Russians now than dodge it by backing down. If one did the latter, then Germany faced the prospect of losing its one remaining ally and of coming under steadily intensifying pressure from the Entente states, whose ability to enforce their preferences would increase as the balance of military power tilted irreversibly away from Germany and whatever remained of Austria -Hungary.11

This was not, then, strictly speaking, a strategy centered on risk, but one that aimed to establish the true level of threat posed by Russia. To put it a different way, if the Russians chose to mobilize against Germany and thereby trigger a continental war, this would not express the risk generated by Germany's actions, but the strength of Russia's determination to rebalance the European system through war. Viewed from this admittedly rather circumscribed perspective, the Germans were not taking risks, but testing for threats. This was the logic underlying Bethmann's frequent references to the threat posed by Russia during the last months before the outbreak of war. 

In order to understand this preoccupation, we need briefly to recall how prominent this issue was in the public world shared by policymakers and newspaper editors in the spring and summer of 1914. On 2 January 1914, the Paris newspaper Le Matin began to publish a sensational series of five long articles under the title 'La plus grande Russie'. Composed by the paper's editor-in-chief Stephane Lauzanne, who had just come back from a journey to Moscow and St Petersburg, the series impressed readers in Berlin not only by the sneering belligerence of its tone, but also by the apparent accuracy and texture of the information contained in it. Most alarming of all was a map bearing the caption 'Russia's dispositions for war' and depicting the entire terrain between the Baltic and the Black Sea as a densely packed archipelago of troop concentrations linked with each other by a lattice of railways. The commentary attached to the map reported that these were 'the exact dispositions of the Russian army corps as of 31 December 1913' and urged readers to note 'the extraordinary concentration of forces on the Russo-Prussian frontier'. These articles expressed a somewhat fantastical and exaggerated view of Russian military strength and may in fact have been aimed at undermining the opposition to the new Russian loan, but for German readers who were aware of the massive loans recently agreed between France and Russia, they made alarming reading. Their effect was amplified by the suspicion that the information in them derived from a government source - Le Matin was notoriously close to Poincare and it was known that Lauzanne had met with Sazonov and senior Russian military commanders during his trip to Russia.12 There were many other similarly hair-raising ventures into inspired journalism: in a New Year's editorial published at around the same time, the military journal Razvechik, widely viewed as an organ of the imperial General Staff, offered a bloodcurdling view of the coming war with Germany:

Not just the troops, but the entire Russian people must get used to the fact that we are arming ourselves for the war of extermination against the Germans and that the German empires [sic] must be destroyed, even if it costs us hundreds of thousands of lives.13

Semi-official panic-mongering of this kind continued into the summer. Particularly unsettling was a piece of 13 June in the daily Birzheviia Vedomosti (Stock Exchange News) whose headline read: 'We Are Ready. France Must Be Ready Too'. It was widely reprinted in the French and German press. What especially alarmed policy-makers in Berlin was the (accurate) advice from Ambassador Pourtales in St Petersburg that it was inspired by none other than the minister of war Vladimir Sukhomlinov. The article sketched an impressive portrait of the immense military machine that would fall upon Germany in the event of war - the Rus¬sian army, it boasted, would soon count 2.32 million men (Germany and Austria, by contrast, would have only 1.8 million between them). Thanks to a swiftly expanding strategic railway network, moreover, mobilization times were plummeting.14 

Sukhomlinov's primary purpose was in all probability not to terrify the Germans, but to persuade the French government of the size of Russia's military commitment to the alliance and to remind his French counterparts that they too must carry their weight. All the same, its effect on German readers was predictably disconcerting. One of these was the Kaiser, who splattered his translation with the usual spontaneous jottings, including the following: 'Ha! At last the Russians have placed their cards on the table! Anyone in Germany who still doesn't believe that Russo-Gaul is working towards an imminent war with us [ ... ] belongs in the Dalldorf asylum!15

Another reader was Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg. In a letter of  16 June to Ambassador Lichnowsky in London, the chancellor observed that the war-lust of the Russia 'militarist party' had never been 'so ruthlessly revealed'. Until now, he went on, it was only the 'extremists', pan-Germans and militarists, who had suspected Russia of preparing a war of aggression against Germany. But now, 'even calmer politicians', among whom Bethmann presumably counted himself, were 'beginning to incline towards this view'.16 Among these was Foreign Secretary Gottlieb von Jagow, who took the view that although Russia was not yet ready for war, it would soon 'overwhelm' Germany with its vast armies, Baltic Fleet and strategic railway network.17 General Staff reports of 27 November 1913 and 7 July I9I4 provided updated analyses of the Russian strategic railway programme, accompanied by a map on which the new arterial lines - most with numerous parallel rails, reaching deep into the Russian interior and converging on the German and Austrian frontiers - were marked in stripes of brightly colored ink.18

These apprehensions were reinforced by the Anglo-Russian naval talks of June 1914, which suggested that the strategizing of the Entente powers had entered a new and dangerous phase. In May 1914, in response to pressure from the French foreign ministry, the British cabinet sanctioned joint naval staff talks with the Russians. Despite the strict secrecy in which they were held, the Germans were in fact well informed of the details of the Anglo-Russian discussions through an agent in the Russian embassy in London, the second secretary, Benno von Siebert, a Baltic German in Russian service. Through this source Berlin learned, among other things, that London and St Petersburg had discussed the possibility that in the event of war, the British fleet would support the landing of a Russian Expeditionary Corps in Pomerania. The news caused alarm in Berlin. In 1913-14, Russian naval spending exceeded Germany's for the first time. There was concern about a more aggressive Russian foreign policy and a steady tightening of the Entente that would soon deprive German policy of any freedom of movement. The discrepancies between Edward Grey's evasive replies to enquiries by Count Lichnowsky and the details filed by Siebert conveyed the alarming impression that the British had something to hide, producing a crisis in trust between Berlin and London, a matter of some import to Bethmann Hollweg, whose policy had always been founded on the presumption that Britain, though partially integrated into the Entente, would never support a war of aggression against Germany by the Entente states.19

The diaries of the diplomat and philosopher Kurt Riezler, Bethmann's closest adviser and confidant, convey the tenor of the chancellor's thinking at the time the decision was made to back Vienna. After the meeting with Szogyenyi and Hoyos on 6 July, the two men had travelled back out to the chancellor's estate at Hohenfinow. Riezler recalled his conversation of that evening with Bethmann: 

On the verandah under the night sky long talk on the situation. The secret information [from the German informant at the Russian embassy in London] he divulges to me conveys a shattering picture. He sees the Russian-English negotiations on a naval convention, a landing in Pomerania, as very serious, the last link in the chain. [ ... ] Russia's military power growing swiftly; strategic reinforcement of the Polish salient will make the situation untenable. Austria steadily weaker and less mobile [ ... ]

Intertwined with these concerns about Russia were doubts about the reliability and longevity of the alliance with Austria: 

The Chancellor speaks of weighty decisions. The murder of Franz Ferdinand. Official Serbia involved. Austria wants to pull itself together. Letter from Franz Joseph with enquiry regarding the readiness of the alliance to act.

It's our old dilemma with every Austrian action in the Balkans. If we encourage them, they will say we pushed them into it. If we counsel against it, they will say we left them in the lurch. Then they will approach the western powers, whose arms are open, and we lose our last reasonable ally.20

During a conversation with Riezler on the following day, Bethmann remarked that Austria was incapable of 'entering a war as our ally on behalf of a German cause'.21 By contrast, a war 'from the east', born of a Balkan conflict and driven in the first instance by Austro-Hungarian interests, would ensure that Vienna's interests were fully engaged: 'If war comes from the east, so that we enter the field for Austria-Hungary and not Austria-Hungary for us, we have some prospect of success.’22 This argument mirrored exactly one of the core arguments of the French policy-makers, namely that a war of Balkan origin was most likely to engage Russia fully in support of the common enterprise against Germany. Neither the French nor the German policy-makers trusted their respective allies to commit fully to a struggle in which their own country's interests were principally at stake.

 

The French in Russia

At 11.30 p.m. on Wednesday 15 July, the presidential train left the Gare du Nord in Paris for Dunkirk. On board were the French President Raymond Poincare, the new prime minister Rene Viviani and the political director at the Quai d'Orsay (the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs), Pierre de Margerie. Early the following morning, the three men joined the battleship France for the journey through the Baltic to Kronstadt and St Petersburg. Viviani was new in post - the former socialist had been prime minister for only four weeks and had no experience or knowledge whatsoever of external affairs. His principal utility to Poincare consisted in the fact that he had recently converted to the cause of the Three Year Law, commanded a sizeable following in the chamber and was prepared to support Poincare's views on defence. As the state visit to Russia unfolded, it would quickly become apparent that he was politically out of his depth. Pierre de Margerie, by contrast, was an experienced career diplomat who had been brought to Paris by Poincare in the spring of  1912, at the age of fifty one, to occupy the post of associate director at the Quai d'Orsay. Poincare had created this watchdog post in the hope that de Margerie would keep an eye on The French Ambassador in St.Petersburg Maurice Paleologue and check any major indiscretions. As it happened, this proved unnecessary. Paleologue performed to Poincare's satisfaction, and when his reward came in the form of the posting to St Petersburg, de Margerie succeeded Paleologue to the political directorship. In this role he proved himself efficient and - most importantly of all in the president's eyes - politically loyal.23 Neither Viviani nor de Margerie was capable of mounting an effective challenge to the president's control over policy.

Poincare had much to think about as he boarded the France at Dunkirk at 5.00 a.m, on I6 July. First there was Charles Humbert's sensational indictment of the French military administration. In a speech before the Senate of 13 July to mark the submission of his report on the special budgetary vote for army materiel, Humbert, senator for the Meuse (a department on the border with Belgium), had delivered a swingeing attack on the French military administration. French forts, he claimed, were of poor quality, fortress guns lacked ammunition and the wireless installations for fort-to-fort communications were faulty. Whenever the German wireless installation at Metz was transmitting, Humbert claimed, the station at Verdun went on the blink. French artillery was quantatively inferior to the German, especially in heavy guns. One detail above all caught the attention of the French public, and particularly of the nation's mothers: the army was woefully short of boots; if war broke out, Humbert declared, French soldiers would have to take to the field with only one pair of boots, plus a single thirty-year-old reserve boot in their knapsacks. The speech triggered a political sensation. In his reply, Minister of War Adolphe Messimy did not deny the substance of the charges, but insisted that rapid progress was being made on all fronts.24 The deficiencies in artillery provision would be made good by 1917.

This was all the more annoying for the fact that the man at the forefront of the resulting parliamentary agitation was Poincare's old enemy Georges Clemenceau, who was claiming that the incompetence revealed in the report justified withholding parliamentary support for the new military budget. It had only just been possible to resolve the issue and pass the new military budget in time to avoid a postponement of the president's departure. On the day they left for Dunkirk, Viviani seemed nervous and preoccupied by the thought of intrigues and conspiracies, despite Poincare's efforts to calm him.25

As if this were not enough, the famous Madame Caillaux (the wife of the French President killed the editor of the conservative newspaper LE FIGARO for libel) - trial was due to open on 20 July and there was reason to fear that exposures and revelations in court might trigger a chain of scandals that would shake the government. The scope of the threat became apparent when rumours circulated that the murdered newspaper editor Calmette had also had in his possession deciphered German telegrams revealing the extent of Caillaux's negotiations with Germany during the Agadir crisis in 1911. In these communications - according to the telegrams, at least _ Caillaux had spoken of the desirability of a rapprochement with Berlin. Caillaux also claimed to possess affidavits proving that Poincare had orchestrated the campaign against him. On 11 July, three days before the president's departure for Russia, Caillaux threatened to make these known to the public if Poincare did not press for the acquittal of his wife.26 The occult machines of Parisian political intrigue were still turning at full throttle.  

Despite these concerns, Poincare embarked on his journey across the Baltic Sea in a surprisingly calm and resolved mood. It must have been a huge relief to escape Paris at a time when the Caillaux trial had thrown the newspapers into a frenzy. He spent much of the first three days of the crossing on the deck of the France briefing Viviani, whose ignorance of foreign policy he found 'shocking', for the mission in St Petersburg.27 His summary of these tutorials, which gives us a clear sense of Poincares own thinking as he left Paris, included 'details on the alliance', an overview of 'the various subjects raised in St Petersburg in 1912', 'the military conventions of France and Russia', Russia's approach to England regarding a naval convention and 'relations with Germany'. 'I have never had difficulties with Germany,' Poincare declared, 'because I have always treated her with great firmness.’28 The 'subjects raised in St Petersburg in 1912' included the reinforcement of strategic railways, the importance of massive offensive strikes from the Polish salient and the need to focus on Germany as the principal adversary. And the reference to England is an indication that Poincare was thinking in terms not just of the alliance with Russia, but of the embryonic Triple Entente. Here in a nutshell was Poincare's security credo: the alliance is our bedrock; it is the indispensable key to our military defence; it can only be maintained by intransigence in the face of demands from the opposing bloc. These were the axioms that would frame his interpretation of the crisis unfolding in the Balkans.

To judge from the diary entries, Poincare found the days at sea profoundly relaxing. While Viviani fretted over the news of Parisian scandal and intrigue arriving in fragments via the radio-telegraph from Paris, Poincare enjoyed the warm air on deck and the play of the sunshine on a blue sea brushed by 'imperceptible waves'. There was just one small hitch: while approaching the harbour at Kronstadt, the France, steaming along at 15 knots in the early morning darkness of 20 July, managed to ram a Russian tugboat towing a frigate towards its berth. The incident woke Poincare in his cabin. How vexing that a French warship sailing in neutral waters under the command of an admiral of the fleet should have struck and damaged a tugboat of the allied nation. It was, he noted irritably in the diary, 'a gesture lacking in dexterity and elegance'. 

The president's good cheer was restored by the brilliant scene that greeted the France as it sailed into Kronstadt harbour. From all directions, naval vessels and festively decorated packet and pleasure boats motored out to welcome the visitors and the imperial launch pulled alongside to transfer Poincare to the Tsar's yacht Alexandria. 'I leave the France,' Poincare noted, 'with the emotion that always overcomes me when, to the noise of cannonfire, I leave one of our warships.’29 Across the water, standing beside the Tsar on the bridge of the Alexandria, where he had an excellent view of the entire scene, Maurice Paleologue was already mentally composing a paragraph for his memoirs:

It was a magnificent spectacle. In a quivering, silvery light, the France slowly surged forward over the turquoise and emerald waves, leaving a long white furrow behind her. Then she stopped majestically. The mighty warship which has brought the head of the French state is well worthy of her name. She was indeed France coming to Russia. I felt my heart beating.30

The minutes of the summit meetings that took place over the next three days have not survived. In the 1930s, the editors of the Documents Diplomatiques Francais searched for them in vain.31 And the Russian records of the meetings, less surprisingly perhaps, given the disruptions to archival continuity during the years of war and civil war, have also been lost. Nevertheless, it is possible by reading the accounts in Poincare's diaries alongside the memoirs of Paleologue and the notes kept by other diplomats present during those fateful days, to get a fairly clear sense of what transpired. 

The meetings were centrally concerned with the crisis unfolding in Central Europe. It is important to emphasize this, because it has often been suggested that as this was a long-planned state visit rather than an exercise in crisis summitry, the matters discussed must have followed a pre-planned agenda in which the Serbian question occupied a subordinate place. In fact, quite the opposite is the case. Even before poincare had left the France, the Tsar was already telling the ambassador how much he was looking forward to his meeting with the president of the Republic: 'We shall have weighty matters to discuss. I am sure we shall agree on all points ... But there is one question which is very much in my mind - our understanding with England. We must get her to come into our alliance.'32 

As soon as the formalities were done with, the Tsar and his guest made their way to the stern of the Alexandria, and entered into conversation. 'Or perhaps I should say a discussion,' wrote Paleologue, 'for it was obvious that they were talking business, firing questions at each other and arguing.' It seemed to the ambassador that Poincare was dominating the conversation; soon he was doing 'all the talking, while the Tsar simply nodded acquiescence, but [the Tsar's] whole appearance showed his sincere approval'.33 According to Poincare's diary, the conversation in the yacht touched first on the alliance, of which the Tsar spoke 'with great firmness'. The Tsar asked him about the Humbert scandal, which he said had made a very bad impression in Russia, and he urged Poincare to do whatever was necessary to prevent the Three Year Law from falling. Poincare in turn assured him that the new French chamber had shown its true will by voting to retain the law and that Viviani too was a firm supporter. Then the Tsar raised the matter of the relations between Sergei Witte and Joseph Caillaux, who were said to be the exponents of a new foreign policy based on rapprochement between Russia, France, Germany and Britain. But the two men agreed that this was an unfeasible project that posed no threat to the current geopolitical alignment.34

In short, even as they made their way to shore, Poincare and the Tsar established that they were both thinking along the same lines. The key point was alliance solidarity, and that meant not just diplomatic support, but the readiness for military action. On the second day (2I July), the Tsar came to see Poincare in his apartments at the Peterhof and the two men spent an hour tete-a-tete, This time, the conversation focused first on the tension between Russia and Britain in Persia. Poincare adopted a conciliating tone, insisting that these were minor vexations that ought not to compromise good Anglo-Russian relations. Both men agreed that the source of the problem did not lie in London or St Petersburg, but with unspecified 'local interests' of no broader relevance. And the Tsar noted with some relief that Edward Grey had not allowed Berlin's discovery of the naval talks to scupper the search for a convention. Some other issues were touched on - Albania, Graeco-Turkish tension over the Aegean islands and Italian policy - but the Tsar's 'most vivid preoccupation', Poincare noted, related to Austria and to her plans in the aftermath of the events at Sarajevo. At this point in the discussion, Poincare reported, the Tsar made a highly revealing comment: 'He repeats to me that under the present circumstances, the complete alliance between our two governments appears to him more necessary than ever.' Nicholas left soon afterwards.35 

Here again, the central theme was the unshakeable solidarity of the Franco-Russian Alliance in the face of possible provocations from Austria. But what did this mean in practice? Did it mean that the alliance would respond to an Austrian demarche against Serbia with a war that must, by necessity, be continental in scope? Poincare offered a coded answer to this question on that afternoon (21 July), when, together with Viviani and Paleologue, he received the various ambassadors. The second in line was the Austro-Hungarian ambassador Fritz Szapary, newly returned from Vienna, where he had been at the bedside of his dying wife. After a few words of sympathy on the assassination, Poincare asked whether there had been any news of Serbia. 'The judicial enquiry is proceeding,' Szapary answered. Paleologue's account of Poincare's reply accords closely with that given in Szapary's dispatch:

Of course I am anxious about the results of this enquiry Monsieur l'Ambassadeur. I can remember two previous enquiries which did not improve your relations with Serbia ... Don't you remember? The Friedjung affair and the Prochaska affair?36

This was an extraordinary response for a head of state visiting a foreign capital to make to the representative of a third state. Quite apart from the taunting tone, it was in effect denying in advance the credibility of any findings the Austrians might produce in their enquiry into the background of the assassinations. It amounted to declaring that France did not and would not accept that the Serbian government bore any responsibility whatsoever for the murders in Sarajevo and that any demands made upon Belgrade would be illegitimate. The Friedjung and Prochaska affairs were pretexts for an a priori rejection of the Austrian grievance. In case this was not clear enough, Poincare went on: 

I remark to the ambassador with great firmness that Serbia has friends in Europe who would be astonished by an action of this kind.37

Paleologue remembered an even sharper formulation: 

Serbia has some very warm friends in the Russian people. And Russia has an ally, France. There are plenty of complications to be feared!38

Szapary, too, reported the president as saying that an Austrian action would produce 'a situation dangerous for peace'. Whatever Sazonov's exact words, the effect was shocking, and not just for Szapary, but even for the Russians standing nearby, some of whom, Count Louis de Robien (who recently had been appointed attache at the French Embassy in St. Petersburg) reported, were 'known for their antipathy towards Austria'.39 At the close of his dispatch, Szapary noted - and it is hard to fault his judgement - that the 'tactless, almost threatening demeanour' of the French president, a 'foreign statesman who was a guest in this country', stood in conspicuous contrast with the 'reserved and cautious attitude of Mr Sazonov'. The whole scene suggested that the arrival of Poincare in St Petersburg would have 'anything but a calming effect'.40

In commenting on the contrast between Sazonov and Poincare, Szapary identified a raw nerve in the Franco-Russian relationship. During an embassy dinner that evening - a splendid affair in honour of the president - Poincare sat next to Sazonov. In stifling heat - the room was poorly ventilated - they discussed the Austro-Serbian situation. To his dismay, Poincare found Sazonov preoccupied and little disposed to firmness. 'The timing is bad for us,' Sazonov said, 'our peasants are still very busy with their work in the fields.'41 In the meanwhile, in the petit salon next door, where the less important guests were being entertained, a different mood prevailed. Here, a colonel from Poincare's entourage was heard proposing a toast 'to the next war and to certain victory'. 42 Poincare was unsettled by Sazonov's irresolution. 'We must,' he told Paleologue, 'warn Sazonov of the evil designs of Austria, encourage him to remain firm and promise him our support.’43 Later that night, after a reception by the municipal assembly, Poincare found himself sitting at the back of the imperial yacht with Viviani and Izvolsky, who had travelled back from Paris to take part in the meetings. Izvolsky seemed preoccupied - perhaps he had been talking with Sazonov. Viviani appeared 'sad and surly'. As the yacht sailed along towards the Peterhof in virtual silence, Poincare looked up into the night sky and asked himself, 'What does Austria have in store for us?'44

The next day, 22 July, was particularly difficult. Viviani appeared to be having a breakdown. It came to a head in the afternoon, when the French prime minister, who happened to be seated at lunch to the left of the Tsar, seemed to find it impossible to answer any of the questions addressed to him. By mid-afternoon, his behaviour had become more outlandish. While Nicholas and Poincare sat listening to a military band, Viviani was seen standing alone near the imperial tent muttering, grumbling, swearing loudly and generally drawing attention to himself. Paleologue's efforts to calm him were of no avail. Poincare's diary registered the situation with a lapidary comment: 'Viviani is getting sadder and sadder and everyone is starting to notice it. The dinner is excellent.’45 Eventually it was announced that Viviani was suffering from a 'liver crisis' and would have to retire early. 

Why the prime minister was feeling so poorly is impossible to establish with certainty. His collapse may well, as some historians have suggested, have been precipitated by his anxieties about developments in Paris - a telegram had arrived on Wednesday reporting that Caillaux had threatened to expose various sensitive transcripts in court.46 But it is more likely that Viviani - a deeply pacific man - was alarmed by the steadily intensifying mood of belligerence at the various Franco-Russian gatherings. This is certainly what de Robien thought. It was clear to the French attache that Viviani was 'overwrought by all these expressions of the military spirit'. On 22 July, de Robien noted, the talk was of nothing but war - 'one felt that the atmosphere had changed since the night before'. He laughed when the marines who crewed the France told him that they were worried about the prospect of coming under attack on the home crossing, but their nervousness was an ominous sign. The highpoint was Thursday 23 July - Poincare's last day in Russia _ when the heads of state witnessed a military review involving 70,000 men against a backdrop of military music consisting mainly of the Sambre et Meuse and the Marche Lorraine, which the Russians appeared to consider 'the personal hymn of Poincare'. Particularly striking was the fact that the troops were not wearing their elaborate ceremonial uniforms, but the khaki battledress they had Worn for training _ de Robien interpreted this as yet another symptom of a general eagerness for war.47

Poincare and Paleologue witnessed one of the most curious expressions of alliance solidarity on the evening of 22 July, when Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich, commander of the Imperial Guard, gave a dinner for the guests at Krasnoye Selo, a recreational suburb of St Petersburg with many handsome villas, including the summer residences of the Tsars. The scene was picturesque: three long tables were set in half-open tents around a freshly watered garden bursting with fragrant blooms. When the French ambassador arrived, he was greeted by Grand Duke Nikolai's wife, Anastasia, and her sister Militza, who was married to Nikolai's brother, Pyotr Nikolaevich. The two sisters were daughters of the remarkably energetic and ambitious King Nikola of Montenegro. 'Do you realise,' they said (both talking at once), 'that we are passing through historic days! 

At the review to-morrow the bands will play nothing but the Marche Lorraine and Sambre et Meuse. I've had a telegram (in pre-arranged code) from my father to-day. He tells me we shall have war before the end of the month ... What a hero my father is!. .. He's worthy of the Iliad! Just look at this little box I always take about with me. It's got some Lorraine soil in it, real Lorraine soil I picked up over the frontier when I was in France with my husband two years ago. Look there, at the table of honour: it's covered with thistles. I didn't want to have any other flowers there. They're Lorraine thistles, don't you see! I gathered several plants on the annexed territory, brought them here and had the seeds sown in my garden ... Militza, go on talking to the ambassador. Tell him all to-day means to us while I go and receive the Tsar ... 48

Militza was not speaking figuratively. A letter of November 1912 from the French military attache in St Petersburg, General Laguiche, confirms that in the summer of that year, while her husband was attending the French manoeuvres near Nancy, the grand duchess had sent someone over the border into German-controlled Lorraine with instructions to collect a thistle and some soil. She brought the thistle back to Russia, cared for it until it germinated, then planted the seeds in the Lorraine earth, watered it carefully until new thistles grew, then mixed the Lorraine soil with Russian soil to symbolize the Franco-Russian Alliance and passed it to her gardener for propagation with the warning that if the thistles died, he would lose his job. It was from this garden that she harvested the samples she showed to Poincare in July 1914.49 These extravagant gestures had real political import; Anastasia's husband Grand Duke Nikolai, a pan-Slavist and the first cousin once removed of the Tsar, was among those most active in pressing Nicholas II to intervene militarily on Serbia's behalf, should Austria press Belgrade with 'unacceptable' demands. 

The Montenegrin rhapsody continued during dinner, as Anastasia regaled her neighbours with prophecies: 'There's going to be a war ... There'll be nothing left of Austria ... You're going to get back Alsace and Lorraine ... Our armies will meet in Berlin ... Germany will be destroyed .. .'50 and so on. Poincare, too, saw the princesses in action. He was sitting next to Sazonov during an entracte in the ballet when Anastasia and Militza approached and began upbraiding the foreign minister for insufficient ardour in Serbia's support. Once again, the limpness of the foreign minister's manner gave pause for thought, but Poincare noted with satisfaction that 'the Tsar, for his part, without being quite as ecstatic as the two grand duchesses, seems to me more determined than Sazonov to defend Serbia diplomatically'.51

These dissonances did not prevent the alliance partners from agreeing on a common course of action. At 6 p.m. on 23 July, the evening of the departure of the French, Viviani, who seemed somewhat recovered from his 'attack of liver', agreed with Sazonov the instructions to be sent to the Russian and French ambassadors in Vienna. The ambassadors were to mount a friendly joint demarche recommending moderation to Austria and expressing the hope that she would do nothing that could compromise the honour or the independence of Serbia. These words were of course carefully chosen to interdict in advance the note that both parties already knew the Austrians were about to present. George Buchanan agreed to suggest that his own government send an analogous message.52

That evening, during the pre-departure dinner held on the deck of the France, there was a highly emblematic dispute between Viviani and Paleologue over the wording of a communique to be drawn up for the press. Paleologue's draft ended by alluding to Serbia with the words:

The two governments have discovered that their views and intentions for the maintenance of the European balance of power, especially in the Balkan Peninsula, are absolutely identical.

Viviani was unhappy with this formulation - 'I think it involves us a little too much in Russia's Balkan policy', he said.

Another more anodyne draft was drawn up:

The visit which the president of the Republic has just paid to H.M. the Emperor of Russia has given the two friendly and allied governments an opportunity of discovering that they are in entire agreement in their views on the various problems which concern for peace and the balance of power in Europe has laid before the powers, especially in the Balkans.53

This was a fine exercise in the art of euphemism. Yet despite its prudent tone, the revised communique was easily decoded and exploited by the liberal and pan-Slav Russian papers, which began pushing openly for military intervention in support of Belgrade.54

Poincare was not especially happy with how the dinner had gone.

The heavy afternoon rain had virtually torn down the marquee on the aft deck where the guests were supposed to be sitting and the ship's cook did not cover himself in glory - the soup course was late and 'no one praised the dishes', Poincare later noted. But the president could afford to be satisfied with the overall impact of the visit. He had come to preach the gospel of firmness and his words had fallen on ready ears. Firmness in this context meant an intransigent opposition to any Austrian measure against Serbia. At no point do the sources suggest that Poincare or his Russian interlocutors gave any thought whatsoever to what measures Austria-Hungary might legitimately be entitled to take in the aftermath of the assassinations. There was no need for improvisations or new policy statements - Poincare was simply holding fast to the course he had plotted since the summer of 1912. This may help explain why, in contrast to many of those around him, he remained so conspicuously calm throughout the visit. This was the Balkan inception scenario envisaged in so many Franco-Russian conversations. Provided the Russians, too, stayed firm, everything would unfold as the policy had foreseen. Poincare called this a policy for peace, because he imagined that Germany and Austria might well back down in the face of such unflinching solidarity. But if all else failed, there were worse things than a war at the side of mighty Russia and, one hoped, the military, naval, commercial and industrial power of Great Britain. 

De Robien, who observed all this from close quarters, was not impressed. Poincare, he felt, had deliberately overridden the authority of Viviani, who as premier and minister of foreign affairs was the responsible office-holder, pressing assurances and promises upon Nicholas II. Just before they separated, Poincare reminded the Tsar: 'This time we must hold firm.'

At almost exactly the same moment [de Robien recalled], the Austrian ultimatum was presented to Belgrade. Our opponents, too, had decided to 'hold firm'. On both sides they imagined that 'bluffing' would suffice to achieve success. None of the players thought that it would be necessary to go all the way. The tragic poker game had begun.55

It was in the nature of great men, Paleologue would later write, to play such fateful games. The 'man of action' he observed in his study of Cavour, becomes 'a gambler, for each grave action implies not only an anticipation of the future, but a claim to be able to decide events, to lead and control them'.56

To evaluate the decisions made in European capitals in July 1914, one must disentangle not only what actually happened when, but what the relevant policymakers knew (or thought they knew), and when they knew it Updated 6 July, 2013: Detailed Overview.

As we have seen in the Sarajevo conspiracy, the Austro-Hungarian reaction to the assassination to set off a chain reaction that led to a catastrophic conflict.

Decades of research and analysis have established a fairly reliable timeline of both intentions and decision making in Berlin and Vienna. First came the Count Hoyos mission to Berlin, which resulted in the notorious ‘blank check’, wherein Kaiser Wilhelm II promised on 5 july 1914 that Germany would stand by Austria if she attacked Serbia – while highlighting also what France and Russia did thereafter. The Austrians put the final touches to the ultimatum to be presented in Belgrade, and Russia started it pre-mobilization, but everybody held its breath when the actual first shots came thus finishing p.3.

Soon the populations of various countries led by their nationalistic and religious believes reacted when war actually broke out.

 

 

1. Szogyenyi to Berchtold, Berlin, 5 July 1914, in OUAP, vol. 8, doc. Io058, PP.306-7.

 

2. Hoyos memoir in Fritz Fellner, 'Die Mission "Hoyos''', in id., Vam Dreibund zum Volkerbund. Studien zur Geschichte der Internationalen Beziehungen 1882-1919, ed. H. Mashl and B. Mazohl-Wallnig (Vienna, 19941, p. 137.

3. Bolger Afflerbach, Falkenhayn: Politisches Denken und Handeln im Kaiser¬reich (Munich, 1994), p. 151; Albertini, Origins, vol. 2, p. 142; Annika Mombauer, Helmut von Moltke and the Origins of the First World War (Cambridge, 2001), p. 190; Geiss (ed.),Julikrise, vol. I, p. 79.

4. Szogyenyi to Berchtold, Berlin, 6 July r9I4, OUAP, vol. 8, doc. 10076, P.320.

5. Imanuel Geiss, July 1914. The Outbreak of the First World War. Selected Documents (New York, 1974), p. 72; Albertini, Origins, vol. 2, pp. 137-40. 38. Albertini, Origins, vol. 2, p. 147; Hantsch, Berchtold, vol. 2, pp. 571-2.

6. Albertini, Origins, vol. 2, pp. 159, 137-8; Afflerbach, Falkenhayn, p. 151; Stevenson, Armaments, pp. 372, 375.

7. Geiss, July 1914, p. 72; David Stevenson, Armaments and the Coming of War. Europe 1904-1915 (Oxford, 1996), p. 372; Szogyenyi to Berchtold, Berlin, 28 October 1913, OUAP, vol. 7, doc. 8934, pp. 513-15.

8. On British concerns in the spring and summer of 1914 about the reliability of the Russians, see Thomas Otte, The Foreign Office Mind. The Making of British Foreign Policy, 1865-1914 (Cambridge, 2001) pp. 376-8; on French concern about Sergei Witte: Stefan Schmidt, Frankreichs Aussenpolitik in der Julikrise 1914. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Ausbruchs des Ersten Weltkrieges (Munich, 2009), pp. 266-8.

9. Konrad H. Jarausch, 'The Illusion of Limited War: Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg's Calculated Risk, July 1914', Central European History, zl t: (1969), pp. 48-76; Gian Enrico Rusconi, Rischio 1914. Come si decide una

guerra (Bologna, 1987), pp. 9 5-Il5.

11.  Jarausch, 'Bethmann Hollweg's Calculated Risk', p. 48.

12.  Dieter Hoffmann, Der Sprung ins Dunkle: Oder wie der 1. Weltkrieg entfesselt wurde (Leipzig, 2010), pp. 159-62; Le Matin, 4 January 1914; see also Ignatiev to Danilov (Russian Quartermaster-General), Paris, 22 January 1914, IBZI, series 3, vol. I, 77, pp. 65-8, here p. 66. Izvolsky suspected that the article was inspired by a middle-ranking functionary of the Quai d'Orsay, see ibid., p. 66, n. 1.

13.  Cited in Hermann von Kuhl, Der deutsche Generalstab in Vorbereitung und Durchführung des Weltkrieges (Berlin, 1920), p. 72.

14. Pourtales to Bethmann, 13 June 1914, DD, vol.f , doc. I, p. 1.

15. Wilhelm II, marginal notes to the translation of the same article, ibid., doc. 2, p. 3.

16. Bethmann to Lichnowsky, Berlin, 16 June 1914, GP, vol. 39, doc. 15883, pp. 628-30, esp. p. 628.

17.1. V. Bestuzhev, 'Russian Foreign Policy, February-June 1914', Journal of Contemporary History, 1/3 (1966), p. 96.

18.  General Staff memorandum, Berlin, 27 November 1913 and 7 July 1914, PA-AA, R IlOIl.

19.  Zara S. Steiner, Britain and the Origins of the First World War (London, 1977), pp. 120-24; Wolfgang J. Mommsen, 'Domestic Factors in German Foreign Policy before 1914', Central European History, 6 119-31, pp. 3-43, here pp. 36-9.

20. Karl Dietrich Erdmann (ed.), Kurt Riezler. Tagebucber; Autsatze, Dokumente (Gottingen, 1972), diary entry 7 July 1914, pp. 182-3. The publication of the diaries triggered a long and often acrimonious debate, both over the extent of German responsibility for the outbreak of war (the 'Fischer Controversy' was still smouldering) and over the authenticity of the diaries (especially the pre-war sections). Bernd Sosemann in particular accused Erdmann of misdescribing the manuscript, which consisted of heavily edited, partly truncated loose leaves with a combination of what appear to be original diary entries and later interpolations, as a 'diary' granting the reader a contemporary win¬dow on events. See Bernd Sosemann, 'Die Erforderlichkeit des Unmoglichen. Kritische Bemerkungen zu der Edition: Kurt Riezler, Tagebiicher, Aufsiitze, Dokumente', Blatter fur deutsche Landesgeschichte, 110 (1974); id., 'Die Tagebiicher Kurt Riezlers. Untersuchungen zu ihrer Echtheit und Edition', Historische Zeitschrift, 236 (1983), pp. 327-69, and Erdmann's detailed reply: Karl Dietrich Erdmann, 'Zur Echtheit der Tagebiicher Kurt Riezlers. Eine Antikritik', Historiscbe Zeitschrift, 236 (1983), pp. 371-402. On the abiding value of the edition and of Riezler's notes despite the complex character of the source, see Holger Afflerbach's introduction to the reprint edition of Erdmann's edition (Gottingcn, 2008).

21.  Erdmann, Riezler, diary entry 7 July 1914, p. 182.

22.  Ibid., diary entry 8 July 1914, p. 184; on the importance of this argument to German policy, see also jurgen Angelow, Der Weg in die Urkatastrophe. Der Zerfall des alten Europa 1900-1914 (Berlin, 2010), pp. 25-6.

23. On Margerie's affection and loyalty to Poincare, see Bernard Auffray, Pierre de Margerie, I86I-I942 et la vie diplomatique de son temps (Paris, 1976), pp. 243-4; Keiger, France and the Origins, p. F.

24.  'The French Army', The Times, I4 July 19I4, p. 8, col. D; 'French Military Deficiencies', 'No Cause for Alarm', The Times, l5 July 19l4, p. 7, col. A.; Gerd Krumeich, Armaments and Politics in France on the Eve of the First World War. The Introduction of the Three- Year Conscription I9I3-I9I4, trans. Stephen Conn (Leamington Spa, 1984), p. 2I4; Keiger, France and the Origins, p. l49.

25.  Poincare, diary entry l5 July 19l4, Notes journalieres, BNF l6027. 2I. Poincare, diary entry II July 19l4, ibid.

26.  Poincare, diary entry 15 July 19I4, ibid.

27.  Poincare, diary entry l6 July 19I4, ibid.

28.  Poincare, diary entry 20 July 19I4, ibid.

29.  Maurice Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs I9I4-I9I7, trans. Frederick A. Holt (London, 1973), p. 5.

30.  Luigi Albertini, The Origins of the War of I9I4, trans, Isabella M. Massey (3 vols., Oxford, 1953), vol. 2, p. 189.

31.  Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, p. 4.

32.  Ibid., p. 5.

33   Poincare, diary entry 20 June 1914, Notes journalieres, BNF 16027.

34.  Poincare, diary entry 21 June 19I4, ibid.

35.  Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, p. r o; Szapary also reported an 'indirect reference to the "Prochaska Affair"', see Szapary to Berchtold, St Petersburg, 21 July 1914, OUAP, vol. 8, doc. l046l, pp. 567-8; Friedrich Wiirthle, Die Spur fuhrt nach Belgrad (Vienna, 1975), pp. 207, 330-3I.

36.  Poincare, diary entry z.r June 19l4, Notes journalieres, BNF l6027.

38.  Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, p. ro.

39.  Louis de Robien, 'Voyage de Poincare', AN 427 AP I, vol. 2, fo. 54. Robien was not present when the words were said, but learned of their effect from Russian witnesses.

40.  Szapary to Berchtold, St Petersburg, 2l July 19I4, OUAP, vol. 8, doc. l046l, p. 568; d. for a different view of this exchange, Keiger, France and the Origins, p. IF, who argues that Szapary was wrong to see a threat in the president's words.

41. Poincare, diary entry 2I June I9I4, Notes journalieres, BNF I6027.

42. De Robien, 'Voyage de Poincare', fo, 55.

43. Ibid., fo. 57.

44. Poincare, diary entry 2I June I9I4, Notes journalieres, BNF I6027.

45. Poincare, diary entry 22 June I9I4, ibid.

46. Christopher Andrew, 'Governments and Secret Services: A Historical Perspective', International Journal, 3412 (I979), pp. I67-86, here p. 174.

47. De Robien, 'Voyage de Poincare', fos. 56-8.

48. Paleo logue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, p. I5.

49. This anecdote is reported in a letter from Laguiche to the French ambassador in St Petersburg (then Georges Louis) and the French ministry of war dated 25 November I9I2; which can be consulted in Service Historique de la Defence, Chateau de Vincennes, Carton 7 N I478. I am grateful to Professor Paul Robinson of the Graduate School of Public and International Affairs at the University of Ottawa for drawing my attention to this document and providing me with the reference.

50. Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, p. 1 5.

51. Poincare, diary entry 22 June I9I4, Notes journalieres, BNF I6027.

52. Poincare, diary entry 23 June I9I4, ibid.

53. Paleologue, An Ambassador's Memoirs, pp. I6-I7.

54. De Robien, 'Voyage de Poincare', fo. 62.

55. Ibid., fols. 62-3.

56. Paleologue, Cavour, p. 70.

 

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